The Good Life
by Ellen Lily
Summary: Glinda is now the ruler of Oz. She finally has what she wanted, attention, attention, attention. But she knows it isn't her life, she lives it for Elphaba. She isn't happy in her "good" life, but maybe some new stranger can help her give a real smile.
1. Important People

AN: I think we're all aware I don't own Wicked

Chapter One

Important People

Glinda plastered a smile on her face as she descended the stair case. She was meeting someone or another of importance from some place that was important and they were to talk about something of importance and then they would have an important dinner and talk about important things and then just sit there being important together until she could finally get them out of her castle in about fifteen hours. It was the same thing just about every day of her life. She looked down at the people she was meeting. There were two slightly older men deep in discussion. They had already been directed to the whiskey it seemed. Joy. When she got to the bottom of the staircase she took the hand of the first man.

"Hello your goodness, I hope you are well today," the first man with brown hair and a bald spot spoke in an undisputable aristocrat accent.

"Very well thank you," she responded even though it was a lie, had been for the last two years.

"I am Gordoran Truff and this is my associate Sorcan Lybth," she nodded at him and the other man.

"It's very nice to meet you both," Glinda said, "Now shall we begin?"

"Uh, yes," Mr. Truff seemed surprised by her directness but quickly shook it off as she took a seat in a big chair behind her desk. He and Mr. Lybth took two of the three seats across from her. "Well, we come from Quading country and blah blah blah blah, blaaaaaah, blah, blahhhh, blaaaaaahhhhhhh, blah," Glinda really wasn't in the mood for a talk about business dealings, not with all of the more important things going on yet she continued to smile for the next half hour.

The door to her office opened and Mr. Truff stopped speaking. "And this," he said with steel in his tone, "is my son, Fredrick, who surely has a reason why he is late."

"Traffic," Fredrick replied dryly stepping into the room and closing the door. Wow, even though Glinda hadn't really noticed a man since the Fiyero fiasco she was very aware that he was a fine piece of male. He was tall and well muscled with curly brown hair and golden brown eyes that seemed to mock life itself.

"This Fredrick is Glinda the Good," she stood up at the introduction and held out a hand. His gaze flickered over her and she would have sworn he scoffed, but then he crossed the room and took her offered hand in his.

"Fredrick, as my only heir will be running our business dealings with you over the next few weeks if that would not offend," Mr. Truff seemed to send daggers at his son.

"No of course not," she replied in a charming voice, smile in place even though she instinctively didn't particularly like the male before her. They both took a seat and her tone seemed to confirm his suspicions as the smallest of smirks seemed to pull at his lips. Most people wouldn't have even noticed the expression, but it was the same one Elphaba always used when she acted even more ditzy than her usual self. There was a pain in her chest and her face felt as though it would split as her fake smile grew.

If her smile grew anymore it would probably get stuck. Fredrick thought as he took his seat. His father was beyond angry at him. He could actually feel the heat radiating off of him, but Fredrick didn't want to be here anyway so… He looked at the blond across the desk. This was the leader of Oz? She was in a frilly pink dress and wore her long hair curled. Her smile was almost freaky in it's sweetness, but what really got him was that voice. No one with two brain cells to their name would use that voice. Fredrick truly didn't know how she was running the country and doubted that she truly was. In fact the thought had crossed his mind even before he met her. She had basically been the poster child for the "Wonderful" Wizard of Oz. Why would she be repealing all of his bans if she truly agreed with him. Seeing her now face to face he was pretty sure that she really didn't know a thing about what the government had been or was doing. She was just a puppet for whoever was actually ruling Oz. Probably the person who had driven the Wizard out. Indefinite vacation, please. He was never coming back and good riddance. Fredrick hadn't really bought the who "wonderful" thing especially when he started persecuting different groups of people, Animals first, but then the munchkins were starting to be repressed by more than just the Wicked Witch of the East, and then some of the groups in the Vikus… Well let's just say Fredrick felt no lost love for the Wizard. However he would like to know who was actually ruling the country now. Cause pretty girl here defiantly wasn't.

A knock sounded at the door. "Miss Glinda?"

"Yes?" she called. The door opened and a maid stuck her head in.

"Sorry to disturb Miss, but I was asked to inform you that Dr. Dillamond has made a startling development." There was a pause.

Miss Glinda glanced at his father. "Would you mind overly much if we continue this conversation later?" she asked.

"Not at all," his father replied and she was out of the door in the next second. But for a moment when he saw her face he would have sworn she displayed an actual complicated human emotion. Interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I think we're all aware I don't own Wicked.

Chapter 2

Glinda tore down the hallway to the room she had given to Dr. Dillamond two years ago. She went to visit him as often as she could surprising herself for she had never really known him when he was competent. She would read to him and talk to him like he was an ailing senile grandfather. He never seemed to get better. She had tried every spell and potion that she knew and had even tried using the Grimmerie though she failed miserably trying to read it. Yet despite her best efforts the professor never seemed to regain his speech or his memories. After the Wizard had left Oz and Madam Morrible was in prison she had found a lot of Animals in the dungeons. One among them had been her old professor bloodied from being dragged back after Elphaba had released him. She had set him up in a comfortable room and cared for him the best she could with her busy schedule. Chistery had taken a liking to him however and took it upon himself to care for him when Glinda couldn't. Elphaba had apparently told him stories of her old goat professor and Chistery seemed to feel like he was a connection to Elphaba. Glinda knew she felt closer to Elphie when she spoke to him, but it broke her heart to see his uncomprehending eyes stare at her blankly when she tried to remind him of his favorite student back at Shiz. He had yet to do anything but bleat at her incomprehensively until she finally gave up. She got to the door and pressed her hands flat on it taking a deep breath. _Please be a good development, please._ She opened the door. The first thing she saw was Chistery beaming at her.

"Miss, Glinda!" he exclaimed in greeting and she gave him a slight uplift of her lips, the closest she got to a real smile anymore.

"Hi, Chistery, how is he?"

"Very good, come see, come see," he scuttled through a doorway into a living room area. Mr. Dillamond was sitting in a chair upright. He usually didn't sit on furniture or at least not correctly.

"Dr. Dillamond?" Glinda questioned breathlessly. He looked up at her his eyes focused for the first time since the day he was dragged out of the classroom all those years ago at school.

"Mrs. Glinda?" he spoke, he actually spoke. "Where exactly am I?"

"Oh, Dr. Dillamond," she crossed to him and took his hoof in her hand, "You're speaking."

He seemed confused by this comment. "Of course I am. What are you talking about?"

"You don't remember?"

"Remember what?" Glinda breathed out slowly.

"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked slowly.

"Oh I don't know," he thought for a moment and then it seemed to come to him. "My last day teaching." He tensed as the memories of being removed from the school seemed to come back to him.

"Dr. Dillamond," she said quietly. "That happened over eleven years ago." Gosh had it really been that long.

He sat in silence for a moment. "What happened to me?" he finally asked.

"I don't really know. You disappeared after that day and I heard nothing of you again until Elphaba set you free from the Wizard."

"Elphaba? What did Elphaba do?" he asked.

She took a deep breath. "Maybe I should start from the beginning." She told him the story from when he was fired. He smiled at the part where she changed her name from Galinda to Glinda, but otherwise just seemed to listen. By the end Glinda was crying. Chistery brought her a box of tissues and she thanked him before continuing. "So I came back to confront the Wizard and showed him Elphaba's little green bottle that had been her mothers. He had one that was just the same and realized that he was her father. He left on his balloon, I put Madam Morrible in prison, and I took over Oz. I found you in the dungeon and tried to get you better. Until today you didn't remember anything at all. It's been two years and two days."

He was silent for a moment once she finished, but there was evident sorrow in his face. He had really been friends with Elphaba. "Miss Glinda," he finally spoke. "You have been a friend for the past two years when I couldn't do anything for myself. I thank you for that. If there is anything I can do for you at all please tell me." She looked at him and even though this was probably the first real conversation she had ever had with him, she respected him more than she ever thought she could while in class at Shiz and she felt bonded to him through Elphaba, a bond that had only increased as she had recounted the story for him.

"I need help," she stated feeling as though she could say that in front of the two Animals in the room. "Oz is truly messed up and I need someone I can trust to help me through it. Would you consider being my head advisor?"

He smiled at her slowly. "Miss Glinda," he answered, "I would be honored."


	3. Battle of Wills

AN: Thanks to those who've been reading and reviewing. (I don't own Wicked)

Chapter 3

Battle of Wills

Fredrick was seated at a long table with his father and Sorcan. He glanced down at the silver utensils pleasantly surprised that they weren't pink. The rest of the castle was completely decorated in pink. Miss Glinda had a bit of an addiction it seemed. So the utensils were a nice change even thought the room was pink and the table…and the chairs…

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," a chipper voice spoke from the doorway as Glinda entered to room sporting a different, buy still pink, dress and the same giant smile from earlier, yet her eyes looked tired as though the day had been long. Curious about what had been so important about this Dr. Dillamond and his condition he had asked some of the servants about him, yet none of them seemed to have an answer. In fact most of them didn't even know who he was talking about. This of course made Fredrick only more curious about her whereabouts for the past few hours. He sighed at himself. Didn't he know that curiosity killed the cat? Who cares who this mysterious Dr. Dillamond was or what Miss Glinda the Good did with her time. He certainly shouldn't, yet as he'd looked around the castle he had wondered about the woman who had decked the halls with pink sparkles.

Ever the politician his father went over and helped her to her seat, even though she had two perfectly functioning legs of her own. "It's perfectly alright," he assured, "you are the leader of Oz after all. There is much that you have to do." Fredrick stifled the urge to roll his eyes.

"Yes, but I regret tha,t having only one day with you here, I was otherwise engaged," she nodded toward Sorcan while saying this statement, while completely ignoring him. Did he get the sense she didn't like him? He was crushed.

His father smiled. "I am just glad that I got to meet your Goodness," gag, gag, "and my son will continue the business." He shot a warning look at Fredrick. They had had the lecture about "respect" earlier. If respect was giving complements that you don't mean to people you don't know then he wanted to be disrespectful for the rest of his life. He truly couldn't believe that he shared blood with this man and shuddered to think about how he would have turned out if he had raised him instead of his mother. He was 99 percent sure his father shared the sentiment, but because he hadn't been able to father any children after Fredrick, they were stuck with one another.

"Ah yes," she turned her attention to him, "Mr. Fredrick, where will you be staying for the next couple of weeks?"

"I was planning on staying in a hotel in the outer Emerald City," he told her slightly confused.

"Oh no," he was almost blinded by the smile she turned his way, "you really must stay here. We have so many extra rooms."

No way. "Well, that is very kind of you but-"

"He would love to!" his father interrupted glaring at him, "His luggage is in the carriage."

Glinda was slightly amused by the look on the man's face; complete and utter shock and horror. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer and she was almost certain he would be causing problems. She may have not always been known for her good judgment in people, but over the past two years she had developed a sixth sense for conflict and this Fredrick was a walking piece of conflict. After Dr. Dillamond had agreed to become her advisor they had talked about the situation in Oz. She had forgotten, or never noticed, how intelligent Dr. Dillamond was. They had discussed the trade issues springing up between different a group of Ozians, the issues with the new governor in Munchkinland, and most importantly the Animal repression that was still going on no matter what she did or said. Then the discussion had turned to Elphaba saying as much as they both could stand. Chistery had sat in rapt attention never having heard about some of the things from before he had met Elphaba. By the time they were finished talking it was long past two in the afternoon and she had gone to the kitchen to request a dinner be made for her guests. That was where she had learned that Fredrick had been sniffing around the castle all day. She didn't know him and she didn't trust him and, after a sample of some of the question he had been asking about her, the castle, and Dr. Dillamond, she was even more leery of him. She wasn't sure of his intentions and until she was, she would be keeping an eye on him.

"Very good!" she exclaimed to Mr. Truff. "I'll have my maids set up a room and have his luggage brought up right after dinner," she turned to him wondering if her smugness showed through her mask. "Mr. Fredrick I am very pleased to have you as my guest."

"And I am honored," he replied staring at her with wary suspicion. Let the battle of wills commence.


	4. Walk After Midnight

AN: Thanks to those who've been reading and reviewing. (I don't own Wicked)

Chapter 4

Walk After Midnight

Fredrick was shown to the room that would apparently be his for the next two week. It wasn't pink, thank all that is good and pure in this world, and it was pretty nicely furbished, but he was still cautious. He didn't know exactly what had made Miss Glinda the Good feel the need to suggest he stay in the castle, but it made him a bit leery. He didn't understand it, so it was not to be trusted.

He walked over to the window and looked down, measuring the drop to the ground below. Perhaps she was hoping for him to fall out of the window of his room. He was on the twelfth floor. All he could see of the courtyard below was spots of colors. He wasn't exactly afraid of heights yet the view did make him a trifle dizzy so he turned away and surveyed the rest of the room. It was painted a nice golden color and had a bed and a sofa. A desk was pushed off to the side and there was a bookshelf with a few books lined up on it. There were a few chairs and a table near the window and it was topped with a vase of freshly picked flowers. Very nice, very clean, very…. Boring. He eyed the door. It wouldn't hurt if he just took a quick look around, would it?

Glinda exited her private library trying to rub away the headache that had been building all day. She didn't know exactly what time it was, but she had heard the clock chime at midnight a while ago. Yeah, she probably shouldn't have tried to read the Grimmerie with an already forming headache, she thought as she locked the door behind her. No one but Glinda was ever allowed in her private library, partially because she housed the Grimmerie in it, which was also locked in a lock box, but also because she sometimes needed a place to simply be alone. Her room was just down the hall, but the journey seemed longer than the one from Shiz to the Emerald City had been. When she turned in the direction of her room she almost moaned out loud when she saw the figure standing in the hallway. She had a sinking feeling that she knew exactly who it was and it only made her head throb more.

"Mr. Fredrick," she slapped the fake smile on her face and he jumped surprised that she was there. "What are you doing up at this late hour?"

"I was looking for the bathroom," he said too quickly.

"You have a bathroom in your room," she pointed out.

"Do I?"

"Yes," she commented dryly even though she kept the smile in place.

"What are you doing up," he asked awkwardly.

"Going to my room," she nodded towards the door he was standing in front of. He glanced at it and then moved to the side to let her through. She went to it and opened it stepping inside. She didn't invite him in.

"Green?" She raised her eyebrows at his comment. "Your walls are green." 

"Yes." Just keep smiling.

"It doesn't seem to coincide with the color scheme you seem to have going here," he commented.

"Hmmmm, yes well, though all of Oz sees me as pink, when alone I tend to enjoy the color green. Besides pink goes good with green. It always has..."

Glinda trailed off and her smile faded for the first time since he'd met her as her eyes took on a distant look. He started when he realized that without the creepy smile splitting her face in half, she was actually quite… pretty. However it was just a brief moment for then she started seeming to catch herself and plastered that smile on her face.

"Well, goodnigh-," he pressed his palm against the door to stop her from closing it in his face. Her eyes flashed dangerously. She was the only person he'd ever met who could shot daggers at someone while still sporting that horrible smile.

"Where did you go right then," he asked, once again too curious for his own good.

"None of you business," she spat, smile in place.

"You're acting different then I thought someone like-," he stop midsentence cursing the malfunctioning of the filter between his brain and mouth.

She went cold. "Someone like me? Do you know me, Mr. Fredrick?"

"I didn't mean-,"

"Here's something I've learned in my life. _Don't_ judge anyone on what they look like or sound like. Trust me I've done it. A lot of people did it. They judged on what they saw, and it didn't work out for the one who was judged or the ones who judged her," tears seemed to gather in her eyes and she forced the last sentence through her smiling teeth. "Good night, Mr. Fredrick." She slammed the door in his face.


	5. Hypocritical

AN: I don't own Wicked, I don't like it, but I don't.

Chapter 5

Hypocritical

Miss Glinda the Good had never made any reference to the night they had met in the hallway in the week since it had passed. In fact the notion that he had perhaps dreamt the experience had crossed his mind several times because she never again radiated the pain or anger she had that night in his presence. In fact she expressed no other human emotion besides extreme happiness and even that didn't seem very human at times. She was strange he'd noticed, different than she appeared. Something about her always seemed… off. There was something more to Miss Glinda the Good than most of Oz could see. True to most people it would seem that she was completely happy all the time, but that angry, sad, girl in the hallway always seemed to be just under the surface, just behind the mask of her smile. He'd thought that she hadn't two brain cells to her name at their first meeting and she never did anything to contradict his idea. That is unless he watched very closely.

"I'd say chicken," she told the chef in the annoyingly chipper voice she tended to use when talking to everyone, except for him at some points. Fredrick had already been eating in the kitchen when Miss Glinda the Good had blown into it. Apparently she was hosting some giant extravagant ball. At first glance it seemed like a stupid fairy princess ball for a bunch of obscenely rich people, the main entertainment being all of the guests trying to impress each other with how much they could buy with their obscene amounts of money. The decorations? Pink. However, when you factor in the guest list and the entertainment it became a cleverly disguised (in pink) chess board. "The governor of Munchkinland has a 22 year old son correct?"

"Yes ma'am," a girl said looking at a bunch of files, The Gala Secretary. Okay even with his open mind about Miss Glinda the Good, he still had to inwardly roll his eyes at her.

"Sit him next to Ambassador Curtis's daughter for the dinner," she tapped her chin, "and while you're at it hire that one band that she mentioned liking as the third performer for the dance. The, uh, Eternal Baggage, was it? Ask them to play a love song for their first piece."

"Yes, ma'am," the Gala Secretary answered jotting down a note and adjusted the seating chart, for about the seven hundredth time.

Miss Glinda the Good took the seating chart and studied it for a long moment. She nodded her approval. "That will do." She turned to him. Ah, acknowledging my presence in the room, are we? Fredrick thought. "Mr. Fredrick," how much hate could one person fit into a smile? "Will you be coming to the ball?"

"Am I invited?" he asked curiously.

"But of course," she replied. "Why wouldn't you be?" Because at the moment you seem to be radiating hate towards me despite the fake smile you're sporting. He raised an eyebrow.

"Then I'll be there."

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Stupid male who just had to be important to the government finances, forcing her to invite him to the stupid ball she had to throw because the stupid government officials were being stupid. By now Glinda's vocabulary had drastically improved due to the fact that she forced herself to read every night. Yet, for the life of her, she couldn't think of an adjective other than stupid.

"Miss Glinda," Dr. Dillamond interrupted her thoughts with his gentle gravelly voice. "You seem to be elsewhere tonight," he commented.

"Yes well I'm throwing a ball next week and my mind is on that," not exactly a lie, but not the precise direction of her thoughts. No the stupid man was where her thoughts lie. She had been mentally, if not physically, avoiding him since that night in the hallway a week ago. She couldn't believe that she had let down her façade in front of him and the fact that he had the ability to make her drop her disguise made her hate him even more

Dr. Dillamond's lips pressed together seeming skeptic. "Chistery told me there was a man staying in the castle." Did he? Maybe she should have a discussion with the monkey.

"Unfortunately," she bit out.

His brows drew together. "If you don't want him here, then why did you invite him to stay?" he asked.

"Keeping my enemies in my line of sight," she told him.

"He's an enemy?" he asked. What exactly has he done?"

She drew a blank. "Well it isn't exactly what he's done, but what he probably will do."

"Which is?"

"Well… I'm not sure yet," she admitted.

"Then why do you think he's an enemy?" he asked.

"Because he's egotistical, conniving, and thinks he knows EVERYTHING!" she exclaimed. There was an awkward pause where she realized that she had just screamed the last part of that sentence.

Ever calm he asked, "How did you come to this conclusion?"

"I knew when he first came into my office. I took one look at him and-" she groaned.

"What?"

When Elphaba had died Glinda had made a promise to herself to never judge someone by how they look and then she had lectured _him_ about it. "I just realized I'm a hypocrite."


	6. Dinner and a Drink

AN: I don't like Wicked, but I hope you like what I've done with it.

Chapter 6

Dinner and a Drink

"Miss Glinda wants to see _me_ in her private sitting room. Are you sure you heard her correctly?" he asked the servant who had just told him that Miss Glinda had invited him for a private dinner. Which considering the fact that she could have frozen a lake with the icy chill she had been radiating towards him that morning there were two explanations as to why, she had snapped or she was planning on murdering him. Neither would be very beneficial to his health.

"Yes, she said to be there around six," the servant replied confused. Was he the only one who could see that she hated his guts? Of course if all of Oz was dense enough to buy the stupid smile then why would they be able to discern when she was overly cold to certain people? Or person. Yeah, he was pretty sure she didn't hate anyone else with the passion she hated him. So now he was going to be eating dinner with her? He wasn't sure if he was afraid or if his curiosity was piqued. The mystery in her interested him more than any other puzzle had. He'd seen little pieces of her, but he didn't have enough to get an actual picture of what she was about. He hated unsolved puzzles, always had, and so he was determined to solve her. Tonight would be… interesting.

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In the morning, Glinda had told her servants to invite Fredrick to dinner in her personal chamber at six. By the time she got back to her chamber it was 6:15 and Glinda wasn't in a very good mood. The governor of Munchkinland once again proved hard headed and set in his ways. He refused to allow Animals to teach in any school that was funded by the government. When she reminded him that _she _was the government that gave him money to give to the schools and that she wanted Animals to be allowed to teach, he threw a hissy fit. She'd been dealing with him for the entire day and was now fighting off a migraine, something that was becoming a daily event. Needless to say she wanted to simply collapse upon her bed and not wake for five weeks. However the man who could make her temper spike by just being in the same room as her was sitting pensively on the edge of her couch. For a brief moment amusement replaced agitation as she looked at the very manly man on her very pink couch. She wasn't so dense, now, as to not realize that men tended to have a certain disdain for the color pink. His expression of distaste had her almost giggling, but that was mostly because she was strung out and tired. A piece of lint could make her want to roll on the floor laughing and a stray strand of yarn could make her cry at this point. It had _nothing_ to do with him.

"I apologize I'm late," she told him, not sounding sincere even to herself and unable to care. She took a seat at the table that had been set up for this reason. He stood up and sat in the seat opposite of her.

He studied her seeming to discount the smile, but taking in the rest of her expression. "Rough day?" he asked sounding actually interested.

"I guess you could say that, yes," she replied evenly.

"So Oz isn't as completely wonderful as everyone in Oz seems to think," he commented.

"Every government has it's problems," she snapped defensively noting to herself after the words left her mouth that it wasn't exactly a reasonable response to his observations. He didn't comment, but did lift the bottle of wine she had ordered and pored a bit into her glass. She noted he set it down before filling his own glass. "You didn't fill your own."

"Ah, yes," he almost seemed to grimace before filling his own glass and taking a quick sip as she did. Then he proceeded to dish out the entrée for the both of them. They ate in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, her having no desire to make idle chatter and him seeming to have no idea what to say. Finally he spoke. "Want to talk about it."

"About what?" she asked.

"Whatever it is that is making you so agitated."

"I don't know what you mean," she insisted even though she did.

"Oh come on, you're more steamed than the vegetables," he said dryly. She stared at him for a moment and then choked out a laugh.

"I guess I'm just that transparent." He smiled slightly at her comment.

"Not to most of Oz, you're not," he replied looking into her eyes. She was surprised to feel most of the tension leak out of her body.

"It's just some problems with the governor of Munchkinland," she told him.

"What kind of problems?" he asked taking a small sip of wine. He sounded as though he truly cared and she was surprised when she started telling him about the events of the day and then she began discussing Animal repression which took up all of the dinner. As she talked she could feel her mask start to falter and finally let her smile slip away completely. After a while she found herself sitting with him on the couch, both of them drinking wine.

"You know you're very smart," he commented but she noticed that the sentence was said very slowly and that the words were slightly slurred. He also had a slightly distant look in his eyes.

"Fredrick, how many glasses of wine have you drank tonight?" she asked.

"Uh," he seemed to think about it, "ummmmm… three, I think. Yeah three sounds right." Three was usually enough to make someone a little tipsy, but not head over heels drunk.

"Fredrick, do you have trouble holding your liquor?" she asked.

"No, course not," he slurred.

"When was the last time you drank?"

"My 21st birthday I went to a tavern and drank one beer. Then sang karaoke. It wasn't karaoke night." She laughed a bit the sound feeling weird coming from her throat. "You have a nice laugh," he told her reaching for her and squishing her face between his hands.

"You are undeniably drunk," she told him laughing again, gosh she hadn't laughed since, well more than two years ago. He smiled at her. "Well, at least you're a happy drunk." He tilted his head at her and his hands gentled. Suddenly concentrating he brushed a stray hair out of her face.

"You're very beautiful without the mask," he whispered and she opened her mouth to reply, but before she could he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers as gently as humanly possible. She felt a spark seem to go off as he held her against his body for just a few moments, but then he pulled back. They looked at each other for a moment.

"Maybe you should go to bed," she said quietly detangling herself from him and going over to open the door. He left without a word, stumbling down the hallway.


	7. Brown Bottle Flu

AN: I don't own Wicked, but I hope you like what I've done with it.

Chapter 7

Brown Bottle Flu

Fredrick had never felt this bad in his entire life. He was flat on his back with a headache and couldn't remember half of the events that had occurred the night before. The stuff he did remember he wasn't completely sure about. Some of it had to have been a dream like the part where a fish in a dress was holding an umbrella over the head of a girl who was as green as grass. Yeah, that was just odd. His stomach growled loudly. He should probably go eat he thought, contemplated getting up. Five minutes later he was still contemplating getting vertical when someone started hitting his door with a battering ram.

"Come in," he groaned. The door opened and he turned his head. Glinda. He sat up quickly ignoring the fact that the world started spinning at the sudden movement.

"How are you doing?" she asked seeming to truly care. He took her face in and silently cursed the stupid smile that was once again plastered on her face. It had gone away the night before when they had talked. At least he thought… he wasn't really completely sure. "You look hung-over," she commented. He narrowed his eyes. There was smugness in her tone, wasn't there?

"That's probably because I am," he commented dryly, though the way her nose wrinkled in amusement enchanted him. "Are you here just to make my headache worse?"

"I brought you coffee," she offered the cup walking over and setting it on the bedside table. Well, she was acting very amiable today. Apparently even in his drunken state he was able to charm some of the hate she held for him away. She crossed over to the curtains and opened him. Oh, no, he was wrong, she hated him, despised him with a passion, just loathed him! He moaned putting his hands over his eyes as the midmorning light blinded him. She chuckled. "Remind me never to give you alcohol again. Do you even remember anything that happened last night?" she asked teasingly, yet there was a forced note to her tone. He looked over at her and couldn't discern the emotion behind her eyes.

"Everything is a bit fuzzy," he admitted wondering what the secret in her eyes was as he searched the vague dreamlike images that he wasn't completely sure happened: her face relaxing in a very human expression, her blue eyes sparking with intelligence as she spoke, him leaning in for a kiss feeling her soft lips on his own. He studied her slowly. Wouldn't a girl be more emotional one way or another if he had kissed her? Yes she was less spiteful towards him, but most girls would be freaking in some way if he'd kissed then the night before. That's what girls do right? "I can't really remember anything after the first two glasses."

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Glinda expelled a breath wondering if she'd wanted him to remember or not. It was probably better that he didn't she decided. She didn't think that she was quite ready to invest serious emotions in anyone yet. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be ready. She'd thought about the implications of the kiss all night until she had finally fallen into unconsciousness around 6 a.m. In the ten hours it took her to go to sleep she had gone through shock, confusion, old pain, new pain, and more confusion. The only two people who she had ever felt a soul deep connection to had been ripped from her life taking both halves of her heart with them and leaving her with nothing but an empty chest cavity. At least she'd thought, but last night even before the kiss she had felt a little pull in her chest. But… no she was just confused. It was the first kiss she'd had since before her "engagement party" (which she had since figured out was a mistake in more than one way) so it made sense that she would be confused about her emotions, right? Besides a drunken kiss meant nothing to a man, no matter that she had felt something in it that she had never felt before even with Fiyero. No, it meant nothing. He didn't even remember it and he'd be leaving soon anyway. His stay was only meant to be for two weeks and it had been more than one. He'd be gone, and the kiss would just an inconsequence meeting between two people that would have absolutely no effect on the fate of the world. She cursed the fact that some part of her wanted to cling to him. No, she thought. She couldn't do that. He wasn't for her. Besides, she had long since resigned herself to the fact that as Glinda the Good, she would be beloved by all, but loved by no one.


	8. Preparations

AN: I don't own Wicked, but I hope you like what I've done with it.

Chapter 8

Preparations

The castle inhabitants as a whole seemed to be in fast motion. Fredrick could not discern one servant from another despite the fact that he had become familiar with most of them. Not to mention the thousands of unknown ones running about doing things, preparing for the evening's festivities. Apparently when Glinda the Good had a ball, or a political chess match, however you want to look at it, she went all out. The decorations he had noticed were all pink except for one small green patch on the wall that he had noticed when he had been walking by the seat she would be sitting at. No one would notice it, unless you were specifically looking for it or you were right next to her seat and very observant. He still wasn't sure what the significance of the color green was to her, but there was one. Before they had become more civil towards each other, he hadn't noticed, too blinded by the pink sparkles, but she always had something green in her attire, if it was a necklace, a rose stem in her hair, or just a few stitches of the color in her garments it was always present in some degree. He had noticed that whenever she seemed as though she was going to call it quits and start throwing things at walls, she would absently pat wherever the green part of her clothing was and she would calm. It was peculiar. Peculiar warranted investigation. Yet despite his prying, inquiring, and sneaking, he had not found any evidence to suggest any reason for it. But he knew there was one and it was driving him up the wall. Miss Glinda the Good had become a puzzle and, as his mother had found out during his childhood, he was physically incapable of leaving any puzzle unsolved.

"Fredrick, is there a reason you're standing here staring at nothing?" Glinda's voice cut through his musings. When had she gotten here? The last he'd known she had been dictating where the flowers would go. He would never have thought that arranging petunias and roses could be so complicated. He was pretty certain the florist hadn't thought so either.

"Just trying to stay out of _your_ way." He'd learned in the past few days that she could be a tad scary at points. She opened her mouth to speak her eyes narrowing. The movement drew his attention to the dark lines that circled them; it looked as though she hadn't slept in the past week.

"Glinda, when was the last time you slept?" he asked interrupting whatever snide remark she had been about to fling at him.

"Uh," she thought about it, "I think I fell asleep during breakfast for a spell. Does that count?"

"No," he appraised her cursing himself. Despite the fact that he'd realized her smile was a fake one, it had still done its job on him. It had succeeded in distracting him from the fact that she was not in a good condition. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes distance as though she was viewing something far away. She seemed very frail as though she would break in two if he were to touch her. Even as he looked she wobbled a bit as though she may just collapse into a heap while talking to him. "Glinda you need rest."

"I'll sleep the night before the ball," she told him seeming to get distracted by something that wasn't there.

"Glinda," he gripped her chin and directed her eyes to meet his, "the ball is tonight."

"It is? I thought it was on Thursday."

"It is Thursday."

"Oh, that's not good. I haven't checked on the food yet," her voice trailed off and she took a step towards the door as though she was going to go check in on the kitchen right then.

"Hear allow me to help you," he gripped her elbow and gently led her down the hallway and up the steps, knowing full well that the kitchen was on the bottom floor. However she didn't notice they were going in the wrong direction because she had closed her eyes practically sleep walking and allowing him to lead her. She opened her eyes when they stopped.

"This isn't the kitchen," she pointed out groggily.

"No," he replied calmly, "this is your bedroom and you are going to sleep for the rest of the day. I will handle the preparations; you won't need to worry about anything." He opened the door to the green room and guided her to the bed. She sank onto it but didn't lie down.

"But there's so much to do," she protested weakly even though it was obvious that she was fading quickly "everyone will be lost without me."

"I'm sure everyone can survive for a few hours," he commented dryly.


	9. The Shepard

AN: I don't own Wicked, but I hope you like what I've done with it.

Chapter 9

The Shepard

Alright, apparently everyone can't survive for a few hours. Fredrick thought watching the panicking throng of servants and contract employees running around the castle like chickens with their heads cut off. None of them were sure what to do: no one could remember which fork went where, the chief wasn't certain how many chickens she needed to cook, and two whole balloons had popped.

"Alright, alright!" he practically screamed at the crowd. They all turned to him, the only one willing to be a shepherd in the flock. "As long as every plate setting is the same, no one will notice, I don't know, a 6 pound chicken serves about 10 people, do the math, extra balloons were bought for a _reason_." There was a long pause. "Go!" The ones whose tasks he had just outlined scurried out immediately; the others seemed to identify him as "leader." Suddenly there were thousands of questions and inquiries being flung his way. He did his best to give an intelligent answer to each question, but by the end of it he had lost track of exactly how he was answering. After eight hours of chaos his world was spinning, but things were starting to settle down. Of course, a female maid chose that moment to run up to him with intense panic in her eyes.

"We ran out of pink streamers!" she exclaimed almost hyperventilation. If he hadn't been so tired he would have rolled his eyes.

"Try using a different color," he suggested wearily.

"Okay," she nodded, but didn't move.

He sighed, exasperated. "What?"

"What color?"

"Ah, green," he told her, "Glinda likes green."

"Yes of course," she shot off like a bullet.

"Spare me from the brainless," he mumbled under his breath. He glanced at the clock on the wall, the guest were scheduled to arrive in twenty minutes, the appetizers were ready and the main course was being cooked, decorations were perfect, music was set up. Everything was perfect and going smooth… yet something was missing…. yes, something, but what?

Glinda! The host would be a good thing to have, would it not? "You, uh, uh Mary," he motioned a maid over and she obediently darted to him. "Go wake up Glinda and get her dressed."

"Alright, what should I dress her in?" Mary asked.

"I don't know have her pick it," he told her.

"But she doesn't know what the decorations look like and her dress has to match," Mary insisted.

"Her entire wardrobe is pink and all of the decorations are in pink," he pointed out impatiently, "I think she'll match the color scheme."

"But there are so many different shades and I just don't-"

"Oh for goodness sakes, I am male so I have absolutely _no_ idea and, even if I did, can't you figure it out on your own? Do I have to do all the thinking for you?" A small hand landed on his shoulder and his head turned in a jerky motion almost like a nervous twitch. Glinda, fully rested and dressed in an extravagant pink ball gown, had a mischievous glint in her eyes and seemed to be laughing at him just a bit.

"Go on Mary, it's alright," she said and the maid hastily left with a little bow. He turned slowly.

"I am a calm man," he told her taking a deep breath, "mellow. I don't scream, I don't blow up, and I never lose my temper. But, woman, how the heck do you deal with these people? They have no thoughts of their own! They're all like sheep, no their worse than sheep. At least sheep will wander away and graze without anyone telling them to. They just stand there, dumb, waiting for a wolf to come and _eat_ them!"

She waited for a moment after he'd stopped talking, "Finished?"

He took another deep breath, "I think."

"If it helps, you lasted a whole lot longer than most people would," she noted.

"Hmm…." He intoned his gaze perusing her. Her hair was done up in a complicated bun that had to have taken an hour to pin up, females, he thought bemused, with one little strand framing her face. Her makeup was done with an expertise that his very male mind couldn't quite wrap itself around, but he could understand that, unlike most females, she used it to compliment instead of cover, probably because she didn't have anything to cover. As he had guessed, her pink ball gown matched the pink decorations, lo and behold. He examined her attire carefully and found what he was looking for. She wore a green necklace and a matching green clip in the bun that complimented her blond hair very nicely. She raised an eyebrow at him a bit saucily, an expression he was sure most of Oz never saw on her face. All together it was a really good look for her, minus the smile that was of course plastered upon her face. "There is a lot more to you than most people in Oz would think," he commented quietly.

"Thanks," she paused looking up at him for a moment. "I noticed the streamers."

"They ran out of pink and I knew you liked green so I suggested they use that," he told her trying not to preen.

"Yes, I do," she said, "and thank you for taking over for me today. It means a lot."

"You're welcome," he said gently and then they just stared at each other for a few long moments. They didn't speak, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence; it was simply quiet for a long moment. He was going to kiss her, he thought. He was going to lean in and press his lips to hers and she, well, she was going to let him. He could tell. There was just some kind of connection between them that was pulling them closer and closer. He had just begun to lean toward her when a bell went off. Connection broken. She turned her head away.

"That would be the guest arriving," she told him walking away from him.

"Yea," he exhaled hard and followed her out of the room.


	10. Just Having a Ball

AN: I don't own Wicked, but I hope you like what I've done with it.

Chapter 10

Just Having a Ball

The next half hour was a blur of faces and superficial greeting as Glinda welcomed her guests. When she finally sat down at the head of the table she gave herself leave to let her eyes wonder as she always did at these dinners. However, instead of landing on the decorations, the guests, or even the little patch of green she had requested be painted across from her to keep her sane during these horrid events, they fell to Fredrick. He had not only noticed she hadn't slept, but had then acted like a rational human being and had made her take a nap. It had been so long since someone had actually noticed her and then cared enough to do something when they realized something was wrong. She didn't think anyone had noticed her feelings accurately since Shiz. She'd been a puppet during the Wizard's rein and puppets didn't feel. Then she'd become the ruler of Oz and she couldn't afford to show feelings. Yet he had seen past not only the front she put up because she was tired, but the charade of her smile. He wasn't fooled by her biggest defense and that unsettled her but, also, pleased her for some reason. Although, why she was glad that he was peeling away the brick walls that had taken her so much effort to construct, she didn't know. He caught her eye and winked with a brazen smile. Was he flirting with her? She thought back to the days when her father had thrown dinner parties with important men and their very hormonal sons. She remembered she'd enjoyed those parties, had _live_ for those parties and those boys. They would wink at her from across the table and she would smile coyly, toss her hair, and wink back. If she recalled correctly they usually met up after the party to… have intellectual conversation. Yeah that had been her in those days, always up for… conversation. However now, with Fredrick looking at her, she looked away quickly. She was pretty certain Fredrick had been about to "talk" with her earlier. Gosh, the man had almost kissed her again, and he hadn't even been drunk this time. Of course she could have been misreading him. Yeah, of course she had been, and even if she had been right, even if he had wanted to kiss her, they really shouldn't try anything like _that_. Relationships and other things of that type were not right for her anymore. Yet, even while thinking this, her eyes sought him again. He hadn't looked away, but was calmly staring her down. They locked eyes. He wasn't flirting anymore, she thought, her heart skipping a beat. This was something more, a lot more.

"Miss Glinda?" the man seated next to her questioned as though he had been trying to speck with her for some time.

"I'm sorry what?" She covered her misstep with a sugary voice and toothy smile. He smiled back, not seeming to mind the fact that she had been distracted.

"I was just talking about the latest Animal rights protests in Munchkinland…"

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Glinda refused to look at him for the last half of the dinner. Most would think that she had simply been too busy talking with the people around her to spare him a glance, but he knew she was intentionally avoiding looking at him. After the fifteen, yes, _fifteen_ courses, Glinda finally stood up and spoke to the crowd as a whole, speaking through her smile.

"Thank you dear guests for coming this eve, blah blah blah blaaaaaahhhhh blahhhh blahh blah blllllllllllllah blah blaaaaaaah blah," Fredrick tuned out the obscenely perky speech and disregarded the smile to focus on the real her. Her eyes were bored with the event, the speech rehearsed until she spoke the words like a machine. He wondered if anyone else in the room noticed that she was less that joyful. Probably not, he decided. At least, she didn't look as though she was going to faint any time soon as she had earlier. He blinked when the entire party of people began moving towards the ballroom. Glinda was finished with her speech? He followed the crowd into the other room. One of the many bands that had been hired began playing as people poured into the ballroom. He noted that Ambassador Curtis's daughter and the governor's son had been speaking during the dinner and that now they were walking near each other towards the outskirts of the dance floor. He had learned that Ambassador Curtis was a very trusted ally to Glinda and that his daughter utterly shared his views. He'd also learned that the governor's son wasn't completely swayed by his father views and was very interested in females. Check and mate. He scanned the crowd looking for Glinda. She was already on the dance floor twirling around in a flurry of pink fabric. He wasn't jealous of the man leading her he swore to himself retreating to the seats set up around the edges of the room. He watched and watched as man after man caught her before she could get even half off the dance floor. He did not feel a sharp tinge of jealousy; he didn't. He sighed. This was going to be a night.

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Male number… hmm she'd lost count of how many men had insisted she dance with them. She didn't even know this one's name. For that matter she didn't even recognize his face. He was tall, but chubby, and had an odor to him that had her eyes watering slightly.

"You have prepared a wonderful evening, Miss Glinda," he breathed on her face. If she hadn't been Glinda the Good she would have stomped on his foot and informed him on how to brush his teeth, but she was Glinda the Good.

"Thank you," she said in the syrupy voice she reserved specifically for these situations. Just keep smiling and everything will be fine, she told herself.

"You are certainly the prettiest ruler of Oz I have ever seen," he commented. Ick, thought Glinda

"Why thank you," said Glinda the Good.

"I admired you even in the Wizard's days; though at that point no one in Oz really thought of you as leader material," his tone suggested that he didn't think of her as leader material now. "Of course then there was that spectacular day you started Dorothy, the hero of Oz, on her journey to destroy the Wicked Witch of the West," pain shot through her at that comment but she did her best to through it off. Comments like that were meant to be flattery, she told herself. They weren't meant to stab a knife through her chest. "I personally credit you for the melting of the witch," he continued in a complimentary tone. "If you hadn't been helping the Wizard and Dorothy the witch would probably still be alive. You killed the Wicked Witch of the West." The room tilted on its axis and her breath caught slightly as his words struck that cord of guilt she carried in her chest.

"Much obliged sir, much obliged, but I really must go," she choked out past the knot in her throat. She ripped herself from his arms and made a beeline for the hallway disregarding any person who tried to interrupt her swift retreat from the smothering presence of all of the important people she didn't care about.


	11. Dancing and Dancing Until We Dance

**AN: Last time I checked I still didn't own Wicked. So, yeah.**

Chapter 11

Dancing and Dancing Until We Dance

Fredrick had happened to glance over as Glinda tore herself from a slobbering gorilla's hairy arms mid song. He watched her slip out of the room with only a telling glare at the guard who moved to follow. Alright, so the truth was he hadn't 'happened to glance' her way; he'd been staring. For the past hour and a half Glinda had danced with twenty-seven men (not that he was counting or anything) of different stature, attractiveness, and importance. Because of the fact that number sixteen looked like he could work as prince charming Mondays through Fridays, Fredrick had seriously contemplated finding him after the ball and beating him in an alley, just for kicks and giggles. That's when he'd admitted to himself that he might be a smidge jealous. When the next song had ended he'd tried to ask her to dance himself, but had been beaten to it. Then after that song, he tried again and once again failed. After the pattern had been repeated multiple times (eight), he'd finally retired to stewing in his seat while watching her twirl in circles in her elegant ball gown.

As she escaped from the room he felt an unknown force pull him to his feet and, without a conscious thought, had followed, making a mental note of the face of the man she'd been dancing with, just in case something needed to be dealt with. When he entered the hallway, Glinda was already out of sight. He glanced around the hall unsure but that instinctive force that had brought him out there turned him left and then right into a side hallway that was barely visible. He spotted a mound of pink curled up on the floor, but as he came closer, he could barley recognize the woman. Every barrier she kept up in the face of her people had fled. Tears tracked down her face and sobs racked her body. There was pain in her eyes, pain he could not even begin to fathom. The smile was none existent. She was so absorbed by her pain that the usually quick girl had not even realized he was in the hallway until he was standing next to her.

"Glinda?" he questioned gently. She startled, jumping up at record speed. He registered something akin to fear in her eyes as she hurriedly scrambled to mentally collect herself.

"It's alright," he murmured gently taking her hand. She blinked up at him as though she hadn't yet registered who was interrupting her.

"Fredrick, what are you doing here?" she asked in a controlled voice. The only clues that she had just been sobbing openly were the tear tracks marring her cheek.

"I saw you leave and you looked disconcerted," he told her. "Glinda, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied stubbornly. Obviously. His eyes narrowed on her.

"Pardon my Qua'ati, but screw that, Glinda." She blinked at him surprised, but not exactly horrified at his language. "What happened? Did that man do something or say something to you?"

"No, not intentionally," she said quietly, "it's just," tears started to well up in her eyes once again. He pulled her to his chest and gently patted the back of her head. "sometimes I can't stand it all. People say things that aren't meant to hurt are meant to be complements, but they tear me to pieces."

"What did he say, Glinda?" he asked quietly, but she just shook her head against his chest and continued to cry. He wanted to push her. He wanted to make her spill all of her secrets and all her problems and then he wanted to do everything in his power to fix them. Yet, something told him not to. Her barriers were thin at the moment and if he shoved too hard, he was afraid he might break her. So, he just held her to his chest for a few moment.

A new song set began playing in the ball room and an idea popped into his head. "You know," he murmured in her ear, "I've wanted to dance with you all night." He drew her back from him just a bit and took one of her hands in his and placed his other one on her waist. With a gentle touch he began moving in a leisurely dance.

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Glinda's head dropped to Fredrick's chest as she allowed him to lead her around the hallway in tight, little circles. He didn't fling her around showily or try to dislocate her shoulder in a fancy twirl, and his hands didn't wander inappropriately. Although, she was more disappointed in that last one than she had anticipated. She let all of the tension in her muscles leak out of her. He smelled decidedly different than the last man she had danced with. She took a deep breath in, apples, she decided, he smelled like apples. His arms drew her as close as humanly possible. 'I usually have a five inch rule' Glinda mused to herself, 'but apparently that has gone out of the window.' With absolute confidence, he picked up the pace and spun her out away from him. When her body came back into contact with his, the sides of her lips involuntarily tilted up in an almost smile. He reached up and touched her lips.

"I like this expression better," he told her in a rumbling voice, a flirtatious smile on his lips, but then his expression became serious as he traced her lips. "My memory is still a little fuzzy from the night we had dinner together, so I want to ask you something."

"What?" she asked, felling spellbound.

"Did I kiss you that night?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she admitted breathlessly.

"That was a mistake," he said abruptly.

"Oh."

"No one should do anything of importance when they're drunk," before she'd even registered the implications of that statement his lips were on hers.

It was even better than the last time. His arms were holding her tightly, her entire body pressed up against his. Her eyes drifted closed and she permitted him to back her up to the nearest wall. There would be no writing this off as a misinterpretation. He broke away after a few seconds and started kissing down her neck.

"Fredrick," she said breathlessly.

"Hump," he replied continuing down to her shoulder.

"We should probably get back to the party," she told him chuckling slightly.

"In a moment…."

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Glinda reentered the ball room with a feeling that she vaguely recognized from her days at Shiz as giddiness. Though the smile that she put on was still fake, she had an easier time summoning it to her face. The pain from earlier had dimmed if not gone away totally. In fact, she felt better than she had since before her first trip to the Emerald City. It was amazing; he'd almost made her smile a real smile using only a few words and a dance…

She spotted Fredrick slipping through another door. Her face heated when he looked at her and winked. Oh, and a kiss; he'd also used a kiss.

"Miss Glinda," one of her Guards addressed her.

"Yes," she asked turning towards him reluctantly.

"It's time to say goodnight to the guests," he told her, not even blinking at the fact that she had left in the middle of the party and come back with her dress just a tad wrinkled.

"Yes, very well," she told him walking over to the podium on the stage and ascending the steps to end this very interesting day.


	12. Nighttime Wanderings

**AN: Still don't own Wicked. *sigh* I only checked this once so some things might not make sense…**

Chapter 12

Nighttime Wanderings

Of course the day couldn't actually be over. Glinda thought as she glared at the roof of her chamber. The guest had left and the inhabitants of the castle had retired to their beds. She'd been lying in her bed staring at the roof for the past two hours or so unable to fall asleep. For the first time in over a week she wasn't fretting over her party while trying to force herself to fall unconscious. Most people would assume this would mean she would fall asleep easily, but apparently that sentiment was incorrect.

Fredrick had made her feel better after her meltdown at the dance, but her feelings were still raw from the statement about Elphaba and without the distractions of the evening the pain was making itself known once again through an aching heart and insomnia. She groaned, defeated and turned on the lamp next to her bed. She sat up, and reaching over onto her nightstand, she grabbed the book she had been trying to get through. After reading a page and a half, she threw it at the wall. The thought of going up to talk to Dr. Dillamond crossed her mind, but she nixed the idea when a glance at the clock told her it was a little past two o'clock in the morning. The goat probably wouldn't mind if she woke him up in the middle of the night, but he was still recovering from his time spent inactive. Besides, Chistery wasn't a middle of the night monkey, as she'd learned from experience, and he would probably be in the same room as Dr. Dillamond. If Glinda had thought he liked the old goat when he couldn't speak, now he practically worshiped the professor spending just about every moment with him. So, no, she wouldn't wake them up in the middle of the night.

Glinda hopped to her feet as though something had bitten her and began pacing across the floor with an agitated gait. 'Nowhere to go, nothing to do, no one to talk to,' the mantra ran through her mind making an itchy feeling run across her skin as though she was trapped in a small space. Of course she was trapped in a small space: her mind, and it just so happened to have an elephant sitting in the middle of it, an elephant she refused to acknowledge for the sake of her own sanity. She glanced out the window at the moon and stared at it for a moment. Finally she crossed to it sinking down on the cushioned bench in front of the pane. Glinda curled her legs under her and leaned her head against the cool window, trying to get rid of the slowly escalating headache. She could see little in the darkness, but could picture the garden planted stories below. She'd filled the garden with row upon row of pink flowers and while most people thought it was just more pink decorations in her life, to her it was symbolic, a memorial of sorts. She'd worn that type of flower in her hair the night she had become friends with Elphaba; it was the very one she latter put in the green girls hair while try to make her "popular." Yet it was more than that, each of the flowers had green steams keeping them standing. The flowers might be pretty, but they were nothing, _nothing _without their green steams. She could attest to that. She'd planted them from the edge of the building stretching all the way to the western gate. Who said no one mourned the wicked? She groaned in frustration. There she went paying attention to the elephant again.

She sighed giving up trying to ignore the thoughts and tried to make out the shape of the blossoms underneath her. When that failed she turned her attention to the sky. The crescent moon was already starting to set, moving towards the west. She stared at it for a while and traced it with her finger. Slowly she become drowsier and drowsier. She stood up and stretched then moved back to her bed. Her eyes flickered closed. A green face popped up behind her eyes, and she was up on her feet once again. Gosh, the walls were closing in on her again, but she couldn't leave her mind. She paced back and forth until finally she stopped at the door. Knowing it would to nothing for her claustrophobia, but willing to try, she slipped out of the door.

Glinda aimlessly wondered up and down the hallways never meeting another living being except for a mouse that scuttled away at the sight of her. She jumped and smothered a shriek then scolded herself. Scared of a mouse, Glinda? She'd faced corrupt dictators, evil headmistresses, and bratty farm girls, she refused be afraid of a stupid mouse! Another little crawling creature scuttled across her foot. She screamed bloody murder.

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Fredrick heard a shrill shriek and woke with a start. He jumped to his feet and practically ripped the door off of its hinges in his haste to open it.

"Glinda? What on earth?"

"Fredrick, hi," she glanced up at him. She was standing in the hallway donned in a pink nightgown with her hair a little messy and wearing obnoxiously fuzzy slipper. He gave her a questioning look. "There was a, uh, mouse."

"A mouse?" he honestly tried not to laugh, but looking at her aghast expression the sentiment was futile. Her lips pursed. When he could catch his breath he asked, "What are you doing up at this late hour?"

"I was looking for the bathroom," she replied dryly while smirking, an interesting new expression for her face. His eyes narrowed. Then she sighed. "I couldn't sleep," she admitted quietly something haunting back in her eyes. Whatever had been bothering her earlier was back.

"Do you want to come in and talk?" he asked jerking his head in the direction of his room.

"I was wishing for someone to talk to," she confessed. He shoved the door open all the way and gestured for her to come inside. She sat on the bed without a second thought. He glanced at her and deigned to sit in a chair instead of joining, no matter how much he wanted to. She smirked at his action. "We are both adults here."

"I'm aware." She chuckled good naturally and then patted the bed next to her in invitation. As he took a seat next to her, he had the fleeting thought that he might come to regret the decision, but then she scooted over next to him and curled up against him. Gently, he stroked her hair for a few moments.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head, "It's just some ghosts still haunting me," she whispered, but then pulled back to look at him vying for a distraction. "Tell me something about yourself."

He took a deep breath, unsure about having that conversation. "What about myself," he mumbled.

"Hmmm," she though a moment tapping her lip with her finger. "Why don't you tell me why you don't like your father."

He winced, "Picked up on that, did you?"

"Yes," she stated without blinking.

"Hmmm," he mused taking a hand and running it through her hair suspiciously.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for the tell tale brown roots," he stated with a cocky grin. She smacked him lightly on the shoulder.

"I'll have you know it's entirely natural," she said saucily. She flung her mane of hair over her shoulder in a practiced toss and then busted out laughing.

"What?" he asked bemused by the tinkling sound spilling from her naturally rosy lips.

"Why, I haven't done that since before I met the _Wonderful_ Wizard of Oz," she pondered. He noted the slight sarcastic emphasis on 'wonderful' and filled it away for later reflection.

"So you frequently tossed your hair like that?" he asked.

"It was the perfect way of catching hormonal, college age boys," she winked at him and he raised his eyebrows. "Believe it or not the version of Glinda the Good I present the citizens of Oz is a very diluted version of Miss Galinda Upland of the Upper Uplands that strutted her way around Shiz University making every boy faint and every teacher want to rip his/her hair from their skulls." Her lips curled slightly into an almost smile, "but we are getting off subject," she said pointedly.

"Ah, yes, my family life," he sighed leaning back against the headboard. "I had a typical tragic childhood," he started airily. "Daddy left when I was two and my mother raised me up. I didn't see the man for years, not a birthday card nor a letter when I almost died from pneumonia at age ten. He married three times after divorcing my mother, but apparently couldn't bear any more heirs to his large sum of money. At the age of sixteen he contacted me and decided to begin training me to become a proper stuffed shirt aristocrat," he paused at her glare, "not that there's anything wrong with that. However, life with my mother had taught me a few things about the real world. No child support came in from my dear old dad and so we weren't exactly high up financially during my childhood. Mom worked as a nurse when she could find a job which at that time was difficult due to the economy. I bailed hay for the neighbors for pretty much my entire childhood because they had only one child, a little girl who had heart problems. Her name was Lindsay and I had actually thought about marrying her, but she died a month after she turned fifteen." He had to clear his throat after that and Glinda looked up at him with empathetic eyes that told him she may have gone through something similar. "So, uh, yea," he continued, "dad was blithely happy that his son felt for the 'lowlife peasants' that he made money off of by throwing them out of their homes. We've never really seen eye to eye. In fact," he continued thinking, "no one I've met since I went with my dad has seemed to think the way I do."

"Sometimes it's better not to confirm to what everyone else thinks," she told him wisely, "I had to learn that the hard way. I went with the crowd. I did everything to be loved by all and I ended up losing the people who actually loved me, people I loved."

"The ghosts?" he asked quietly and she nodded. His curiosity wanted him to shove, to ask questions, but the pain in her eyes halted the inquiries. He brought her head to his chest and she sighed. "So," he started, "may I ask, why the pink everything?" She chuckled softly at his change of subject and allowed him to draw her thoughts into more light subjects. After about fifteen minutes Fredrick noticed Glinda had drifted off into dream land and turned off the lamp to dream himself. Of course not all dreams are welcome ones.


End file.
